How Heathens Love
You are a
child.
Soft,
and round eyed.
But you are also
old.
Older than
me,
but only in the depths
of your soul.
Where the thickets
and the thorns
reside.
I feel the same
ancient pull
when I talk to
you
as I do
when I speak with
the gods.
I want your spine,
curving into my
stomach.
I want to breathe
in your
hair.
And anchor you
down,
with the faulty tethers
of my
arms.
I want to press
my godless mouth
to your holy lips.
Pin your sacred
hips beneath my
fingertips
and show you
how heathens
love.
child.
Soft,
and round eyed.
But you are also
old.
Older than
me,
but only in the depths
of your soul.
Where the thickets
and the thorns
reside.
I feel the same
ancient pull
when I talk to
you
as I do
when I speak with
the gods.
I want your spine,
curving into my
stomach.
I want to breathe
in your
hair.
And anchor you
down,
with the faulty tethers
of my
arms.
I want to press
my godless mouth
to your holy lips.
Pin your sacred
hips beneath my
fingertips
and show you
how heathens
love.